Lyrics:
You're still the
Little boy that you were before
Furthermore, it's worse because you
Feign to be progressive
But when challenged by a woman
You get sexist
to 12, take me out boy imma see you in Hell
Boy you better get your weight up to scale, nigga muscle up and quit acting scared
Little brother face is tat
knife, I'll beat that boy like Craig
Told my youngin', hop out and go face em
Make sure that he dead They know I'm
Bangin' blue, get in that mode
Can't
lotta
Nigga got hopped by a whole lotta rips
Lil bro in the spot and he droppin the
Try to push up on me get him whacked
I'm with them members who ready
Glock Flint Michigan, hol lotta lead (Yea)
I put her in the bed, that's a hol lotta head (Let's go)
Yea I got the answers, I ain't get this shit off Chegg
doubt)
Shit - in this white man's world
Sometimes we overlook the fact that we be ridin hard on our sisters
We don't be knowin the pain we be causin'
the whole FTK
You know, Mr. Mike Love, Bulumaster, what up!
Can't forget, Veedaugh, DJ Pharus, Coops, DJ Timbuktu
K-scratch, The Base Man, Boogie Boy
Dj
to go way back to the bottom, what?
Man, what the hell is y'all talkin' 'bout?
I been in the house all night
I don't know nothing 'bout that shit,
polish your stomach
And polish your face (polish your face)
Stack up the cash, go buy Richard Mille that's all I can say (woo!)
Whole lotta gang shit,
That was it, Sickology 101
Y'all know what I mean
Craig Smith, Nesto, Tech Nina nigga
In the air, motherfucker
Sound like a bird flying around
Yeah,
manifest
And make it out here better man
Mama said
A little less time in stu’
A lot more time on book
Swear that she testing my patience
I might just burn
Yeah (Aimonmyneck, at it again)
Paper Route business
Long live Flippa (ayo, Shotto, turn that shit up)
Tell them lil' boys that (yeah)
I'm
shoot
All i know that weezy ain't never scared
Bust a lotta buck shot in your head
Later bach it man down him there dead
Now we must relaaax
So go - they
i been in the house all night
i don't know nothing bout that shit man
I got the album right here
man send this to em
fifteen men lay dead
In a path that led us straight to Santa Rosa
Now and then ol' Mickey'd say, "Boy, at home you should've stayed
Than to follow me
a trophy for this track, right?
Futuristic G past type, if that's yo girlfriend
She wasn't last night punk, little boy
Stylin mad chump, ain't no wins
to the next (the next)
You frontin man, you stuntin man you're worser than my ex
Hahaha-ha-ha you think that shit funny?
We know the truth boy, keep it one
and take my word, she's hotter than a stolen car
It takes a lotta boot to fill them shoes
Takes a lotta man to make that move
She'll break a damn cowboy's
ritual
Trapsum in the club then get home get physical
Bring that back lets come wid dis
Re remixxx a' lil sumtin like
U noe wa a a i can be ur bad boy
Gaithersburg, right in Old Town, the shit was insane
I'll never forget it, and that's where I met my boy Lenny, Big Lenbo, wassup!
That's right man, we just
that
Hit the game warden smack dab
In his little gonads
I'm lit'r than a truck on fire, swervin'
Hotter than a distillery full of bourbon
Nice twenty-two
clean, text polished in the drawer
Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor
By now, you probably heard of me
Fresh outta surgery, flashy
clean, text polished in the drawer
Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor
By now, you probably heard of me
Fresh outta surgery, flashy
gotta realize, the boys on the east side
You call em S-A's, I call em allies
Because the day that we all unite
Watch the pigs get real polite
Punk
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